The Titan's Strength:
(Tormo's POV)
"We're spending a lot of time on boats Ser." For half an instant your brows furrowed and from the outside it probably looked like a complicated blink. He turned his head to look at Phrank who tried to appear innocent, a big smile on his face with lots of teeth, as if he knew his statement stupid. "Sorry."
"Don't worry, you're nervous and the tension on this boat could be cut with a sword." And indeed it could. Over a dozen men cramped together on a ship headed right for the enemy harbour. They could see them, only a blind man couldn't, the archers would be firing at any moment. His grip tightened on his shield.
"Don't worry boy, you'll get bloody today." Bryen said, punching Phrank's shoulder with a smile. The latter's smile turned grim. "And if you're going to get killed try not to shit yourself." He laughed as the boys face looked even worse.
"Stay close to me Phrank when the battle starts, this goes for all of you. If we get separated it's easier to get surrounded and killed." The young squire nodded, the weight of the unfolding events settling in.
"Shields!" Even from a distance he could hear the order from Ser Gerold. He repeated the command to the men on his ship as all of the other boat did the same, carrying the order down the line. As he raised his shield and the boat neared the piers he could hear and feel the soft impacts of arrows.
As soon as it was safe, to where you wouldn't sink and drown in your armour you jumped from the boat with a yell. "Come on you fucks!" You're voice loud and strong. "Come and kill us!"
You charged, legs moving swiftly. From there the battle seemed to move from one moment to the next, flashes before your eyes. One moment you were blocking and parrying an attack from a gutless pirate that you proceeded to make gutless to beheading an unthinking bandit.
"Ser Tormo!"
The call from Phrank made you hesitate for an instant and almost cost you your life before you quickly riposte and killed a man. When no one else charged you, you turned to look for Phrank, seeing him kneeling over the body of a man. If took two breathes for you to recognize Petyr, there was so much blood, so much dirt and grime on him. He died, beyond the aid of mortal men. He'd been one of your men-at-arms since you could walk. He'd taught you talk to girls and swim in the narrow sea. In your chest it hurt but there was nothing more you could do.
"Get up Phrank." You're voice was dead.
"But-"
"Get up!" You didn't mean to shout but it was the slight crack in emotions. "We're in battle, there's nothing more we can do."
He hesitated but obeyed. You turned away and reassessed the field. Your section of the battle was struggling, of course they were, for they were nothing but smallfolk. In the corner of your eye you saw something. Lord Arstan. He stood there, at least fifty meters from you but the indecision on his face was clearly visible. His head would occasionally turn between looking at the struggling smallfolk, his people, and the walking death that was the Kingsguard.
"Gods, he's a monster. Chosen by the Warrior and the Stranger." You heard Bryen say.
No kidding. In that instant you saw the young lordling make up his mind and run towards the reaper, probably thought it was safer.
You took a breath before turning to the smallfolk. "To me, to me!" You yelled to the smallfolk trying to rally them into a coherent force. With surprising fluidity they followed your command, the limited training they received before this kicking in as they sought to save their lives. As they moved you charged into the fray. "If any of you run, I'll kill you myself and rape your corpse!" That seemed to get the message across and like a hammer you got the men to press the pirates up against the outer wall of the harbour. With nowhere to run they were cut down like wheat.
The battle seemed to have taken forever but when it was over the weight of everything came crashing down on you. Most of the men had gathered together into the hall of the harbour, looking at the wounded, drinking, pillaging the dead, or what have you. The death of Petyr still hurt, you'd have to tell his family. As a Landed Knight and a decent person it was your duty; honour be damned. Honour wouldn't keep you warm or comfort your loved ones. Duty would keep you alive and keep the favour of those above you, just do it right and honour would follow.
Your head turned as someone cleared their throat. He turned, as did both Bryen, Phrank, and the remainder of your men. Standing before was a man who was tall and lean with auburn hair. He wore heavy grey plate and carried the presence of power and command. "I heard that you're the man who rallied the men at the harbour."
You stood. "I am. Ser Tormo Bealish of the Fingers."
"Ser Brynden Tully of Riverrun. I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done, you saved a lot of lives." He extended his hand, to which you took it. Shaking his hand, his grip was strong.
"Just doing my duty Ser, just doing my duty."
A/N: The opportunity presented itself.